Scar
by hannahrama
Summary: Silas meets a young girl. Basic fluffy story with a solid plot. [SilasOC. Rating may increase.]
1. Prologue

**Author's note**: Hey there. I just thought that first off, I should talk a little bit, about my writing, what I'm planning to do, blah blah, just to start this thing. When I read The Da Vinci code, I absolutely _fell in love_ with the character of Silas, then I watched the movie and that just topped it all off. I adore Paul Bettany, he's great, so I thought, 'you know what? I'll write a fan fiction'. So here I am, new to this whole thing, hoping for some good reviews. Mhm, thank you. )

**Disclaimer**: Dan Brown owns everything in this fan fiction (except the plot and the OC). Believe me, if I owned it, it would have been called The Silas Code.

The first extract is from the end of Chapter 102.

This is only a prologue, so it is short.

* * *

**Prologue**

I am a ghost.

_A breeze rustled past him, carrying the damp, earthy scent of new life. With every living cell in his broken body, Silas prayed. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for mercy. And, above all, he prayed for his mentor… Bishop Aringarosa… that the Lord would not take him before his time._ He has so much work left to do.

_The fog was swirling around him now, and Silas felt so light that he was sure the wisps would carry him away. Closing his eyes, he said a final prayer._

_From somewhere in the mist, the voice of Manuel Aringarosa whispered to him._

Our Lord is a good and merciful God.

_Silas's pain at last began to fade, and he knew the bishop was right._

* * *

Silas opened his eyes. High above him, a harsh white light flickered, every now and then casting the room into a state of half darkness.

_Was this Heaven?_

He almost laughed at his situation. If this was Heaven, then Aringarosa hadn't been too correct about how good God was, and how hard everyone must strive to reach His Paradise. If this was Heaven, then the Lord's domain, the Kingdom, was no more than a badly lit hospital room that smelt of blood, disinfectant and stagnant water.

_This isn't Heaven. _

Silas tried to sit up, but a stabbing pain in the side of his gut stopped him. He could feel dried blood caked on his stomach and in the soft hollow under his ribs. He could hear voices. And still, he could see that flashing light.

_On._

_Off._

_On. _

_Off._

A hand grabbed at his left arm, a snake trailing from its fingers, a tubular snake filled with crimson liquid and with harsh metal fangs. Silas pulled away, the scream growing inside him unable to escape from his pale lips. Still the voices muttered, speaking an unknown language, one he understood, but one he couldn't tune into.

"He's lost _a lot _of blood," said one of the voices, concern lacing every syllable.

"Hmm. But now we've taken that thing off of his thigh he should be alright."

Should be. Should be. _Should be._

"Yeah." The same concerned voice as before. "I don't know why he's protesting… He's practically unconscious."

'_I can hear everything you say…_' Silas thought. The voices stopped for a second, and all he could hear was the buzzing of the light, high, high above him.

"There," the voice made Silas start. "He's lost blood, but the bullet missed any crucial arteries or organs."

"He's a lucky, lucky man." Concerned Voice said.

"Yes."

Silas wanted to laugh again. Lucky? Was living lucky? Living another day in this ghost's skin, in this invisible body hardly seemed lucky to Silas.

**Un**lucky was more appropriate.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I always HATE writing opening chapters, always.  
Thank you to whoever reviewed. You are my new favourite people!

**Disclaimer:** The first section of this story is the only bit which belongs to me. The rest of it is copyright Dan Brown.

* * *

A grey light had settled over the grand city of London, draping a blank canvas over its towers and buildings, making ready for the masterpiece that was sunrise. Frost already lay, crisp and white on the ground, silvery-pale tendrils of mist slowly weaving their way through gloomy streets and alleys. Any sign of life- cars, trains, people- moved slowly and lazily, waiting for the sun to come, unbidden over the horizon. 

Mae Lee stared down at this scene, at the old city she felt she knew so well. Her dark eyes, slanted and oriental, framed by thing, straight lashes watched in anticipation for the rising of the sun. It seemed to still be early, at least to Mae, but as it was the darkest month of the winter, the cold sun rose late.

Mae pulled her long hair back into a loose bun, securing it with a thin band. One of her eyes was on her mirror, studying her reflection, and the other on the whitewashed wall, waiting for the first rays of light to hit it.

Then it came, slowly at first, fingers of coloured light creeping into her room until the whole room was ablaze with colours. Blinding whites and creamy yellows lay in shafts across the floor and ceiling, changing the colour of the carpet, so that it too became a rainbow. Ochres, reds and pinks lay themselves across the bed linen, climbing in thin strands up the walls.

Mae stood in the warmth of these streaks of pure colour, allowing them to turn her pale skin into a spectrum of sunburst shades, letting them bring out new shades of jade and navy in her hair. She smiled and laughed, for this moment of peace, immersed in a grand landscape that only she could see.

Her eyes flickered to the window again.

There… The soft white sun, rising up and over the line of the horizon, all the blinding hues lost and insignificant in this one shining, single colour.

She sighed as the intense beauty silhouetted on the horizon, and all of a sudden she was sure that she could see for miles and miles… The London Eye, St. Paul's Cathedral, The Houses of Parliament, all lain out in front of her, on and on and on until she swore she could see the ocean, glittering far in the distance.

* * *

Silas's eyes flickered open again. The light above him was no longer a harsh neon strip that cast the room into an uneven light. The golden sunlight streaming in through the windows was the only thing that lit his room. He sat up, the pain in his side greatly subdued, but still evident. 

The room he was in was small, but well decorated; the walls covered in thick, maroon, baroque style wallpaper. The curtains that hung at the windows were made of thin white netting, standing out, plain in the expensive-looking room. He stretched slightly, savouring the feeling that he was no longer in a hospital.

'_But then…Où je suis?'_

Silas knew that questioning thoughts like this were not right, but still… If he wasn't in hospital…

The thick wooden door clicked open, making Silas look around in surprise. A thin man stepped into the room, clasping a clipboard in his hands. He had a thickset jaw and small, dark brown eyes, shadowed by thick black eyebrows. All the same, he was smiling at Silas, with straight, white teeth.

"Afternoon!" He said cheerily, laying the clipboard down. He spoke with an Italian accent. "I'm Dr. Ciondolare, and-"

"Wait!" Silas cut him off. The doctor looked at him, puzzled. "I'm in a hospital?"

"Of course. Why, did you think we'd let you go after all the blood you lost?" He shook his head, laughing. "Sir, you were bleeding all over the grass-"

"Do not try and make a joke out of this," Silas said callously, and the man stopped talking immediately. "Where am I?"

When the man spoke again, his voice shook a little, aware that Silas was someone who would not have second thoughts about hurting him. "Y- You're in Cromwell Hospital, VIP ward."

Silas ran a hand over his face, aware that the other man was still watching him, with eyes that showed fearful concern. _'So I am in a hospital after all.'_

A sudden thought struck Silas, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The doctor flinched back, caught between his job's duty to his patient, and the basic human instinct to run as fast as he could _away_ from this man. He seemed so calm on the surface, but as he looked into the blue-white of his irises, he could see a bout of hidden turmoil.

"Did I have anything with me?" Silas asked, turning to face Dr. Ciondolare, making his face as friendly as possible. "When I was brought in here?"

"Yes," the doctor relaxed at the question. "You were wearing a dark robe, which I'm afraid had to be burned-"

"Why?" Silas's voice rose for a second, but forced it under control. _'Rester le calme, Silas…Or they'll keep you in here longer than is needed.'_

"There was a lot of clotted blood on it. We didn't want to store it, in case it spread infections or in case you didn't…" He faltered.

"In case I didn't wake up."

The doctor nodded.

"Did I have anything else?" _'S'il vous plait… La mere sainte, s'il vous plait…'_

"Yes. In the pockets of the robe there was a Bible and a mobile phone."

Silas wanted to fall to his knees and rejoice in silent prayer, but he couldn't. Not here, not now. But when he was released… He would praise the Lord for letting him live another day to serve the Master of the celestial city. No longer would he curse for being given another chance at life.

'_Notre Dieu est bon et gentil, Silas, se rappeler cela.'_

"Can I have them?" Silas asked.

"Of course." The doctor smiled. If this man needed such normal things as a Bible and a mobile phone, then clearly he could not be dangerous. But perhaps he just lived in hope. "But I must remind you that no mobile phones are to be used inside the hospital, you'll have to go outside."

"Naturally," Silas said. "Could I have them as soon as possible?"

"Yes! Sure, I'll just go…" And with that he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Silas smiled, standing up. It hurt quite a lot, actually supporting himself, but there was no type of pain that he hadn't endured before. He limped over to the door, where a small, mock mahogany table sat, its surface shining in the midday light. On top of it lay the doctor's clipboard.

Silas knew, that curiosity could sometimes be one of the greatest sins. But right now, his self-control was weak, pushed to breaking point by the pain in his side. He tried to savour the feeling, tried to reel it in so that something good could be made of it. _'Ne pas oublier le souffrir de Christ…' _He slid his hands under the clipboard and took it back to the bed, anxious of what he might read and who might catch him.

Attached to the clipboard was a single sheet of paper. It read:

_Patient file._

_Name: Unknown._

_Age: 25-30._

_Injuries sustained: Bullet wound to the side, under the ribs. He also appears to have several years' worth of lacerations on his back and shoulders. Both his upper thighs are badly cut and beginning to show signs of infection. These particular injuries thighs have been formed by a barbed object, found with him when he was admitted._

There was nothing else.

Silas heaved himself out of the bed, and placed the clipboard back on the table.

Curiosity was always a sin. Always.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! Review please, and remember that ALL comments are welcome.**


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